If.... (A Man)

if i shed a tear,
and wrapped it in brown paper...
and left it on your pillow,
would you hear the ocean?

if i laid my body down,
and became the wind....
that blew out your candle,
would you hear my heart?

if i chose to die,
for one moment of living...
and gave it to you without regret,
would you fly for a moment?

and if i loved you,
enough to turn deserts into rivers...
enough to turn brown leaves to green,
would you listen, would you listen?

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lies Told To Children

religious incantations,
written with dead bodies,
buried in ditches
with face drawn shovels.
the tint of skin tastes
like things done in the night.
and lies told to children
to let them sleep!
redemption killed
on a desert highway,
left to stink in the sun
of another faceless day.
we are what we have done,
in the final end.
yet we close our eyes,
and wash the blood from our hands!
blame it on the cost of freedom,
a white god with special needs.
religious incantations,
and lies told to children!

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Are The Prayer!

pray for peace,
and then live your prayers!
pray for love,
then give your love a body.
pray for hope,
then make the changes needed
to bring hope life!
pray for forgiveness,
and then forgive!
pray for courage,
then dare to do!
pray for fullfilment,
then give everything you
cherish away!
pray for wisdom,
then listen intently!
pray for tomorrow,
then live today!
pray for truth,
then walk naked and strong!

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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At The End Of The Day!

i am not the light,
not even a shadow.
i am not the rain,
nor the grasses that yearn.
i am not a prayer,
am not the answer.
i am not the war,
nor the peace that is coming.
i am not the truth,
i am not a lie.
i am not your saviour,
i am not a stepping stone.
i am not forever,
nor am i yesterday.
i am not holy,
nor am i evil.
i am not the sunset,
nor am i the dawning.
i am not a hero,
nor am i a fool.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Be Still, And Listen!

be still!
the One whose thoughts
conceive universes

out of particles of dust,
walks within you.
can you feel the ebb

and flow of the tide?
listen! you can hear
voices binding darkness

and light....
are they not merely echoes
of the living written

and etched into your memory?
what you call wind
is only the breath of God....

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Another Baby Born!

another baby born...
dependent...
on a system
that dictates economic
despair...
on a system
that mandates educational
opportunities.
on air and water,
defiled and sucked dry.
on a mother's love,
who is still a child.
on a father's help,
who turns and walks away.
on a faith,
that is worn and failing.
on a tomorrow,
made up of todays.
on a freedom,
sold and bartered away.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cannot Wash Off!

i am the stranger
whose body stained
your trembling lips.
the man who came
in the night and
hauled away your trash.
the bird that sat
on your windowsill,
and sang unanswered.
the flash of lightning
that startled without
the warning of thunder.
the old socks you wore,
till they were full of holes.
the cry in the night,
and the arms that answered.
the explosion of light,
that named the darkness.
the phone that rang,
and no one was there.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Drunk, in the Eyes of God

walking with Rilke
down these varicose streets,
hands trembling, and bruised.

amid the sirens of war
and the stupor of greed;
fish come to the surface

gasping for air...
vacant buildings breathe,
exhaling smoke, and

something else more sinister...
faceless strangers hurry by,
bundled up in their fears.

stone deaf, or just stone!
the door padlocked, and guarded...
flesh becomes shadow...

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Believe.... (Chant Two)

i believe...
in open hands, open minds,
and open hearts.
that the banning of books is wrong.
that we have been
too long owned
by what we own.
that we are all
immigrants on the earth.
that all people are
brothers and sisters.
that we are responsible
for each other.
that animals and trees
and mountains have souls,
and that there is much
that we can learn from them.
in the simple life,
in honesty...
that forgiveness should be

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Carry With Me

seems i walk alone
so much of the time....
but i carry with me

tiny slivers of hearts,
many colored splotches
of cloth woven into a blanket

that warms me against the cold.
my feet are worn... my eyes near blind...
but i see with the eyes

of small children
too alive to deny
the magic in each moment....

i breathe with the breath
of human hungering....
for what cannot be contained....

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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